And Then There Were None
by temporaryinsanity91
Summary: Outtake from 'I Lost A World The Other Day' Ron has located the people who murdered his friend and threatened his family and gets his revenge. M for graphic violence and foul language. please read the disclaimer first.
1. Disclaimer

**BEFORE YOU READ:**

**This outtake is rated M for graphic violence and foul language. Ron is not the lovable goofball we all know and love right now, he's heartbroken and homicidal. There is no happy ending here. If you don't think you can handle this, hit the BACK button now. If you still wanna know what happens, I'll be more than happy to write you a brief synopsis.**

**this takes sometime during and/or between chapters 16 and 17 of my full length fic, I Lost A World The Other Day. it's not part of the actual story because of its rating and because i feel like it kinda ruins the flow of the whole thing. besides, it's too long to fit in either chapter. so it's here instead.**

**DISCLAIMERS:  
this story was not written with the intent of condoning or encouraging violent crimes. This story was not written to give anyone ideas either, so don't tell 'em you got your ideas from me! I'm not a criminal, nor do I plan on becoming one; this is purely fiction. I have not and will not put any of this into practice, and I sincerely hope none of you do either; that is not the purpose of this fic.**

**I do not own any recognizable characters from the TV show, Kim Possible. No profit is being made from the posting of this story. The phrase "And then there were none" and the others like it are inspired by an Agatha Christie book (in which a serial killer picks off ten people in ways that make the final destination series look like disney movies), so those don't belong to me either.**

**OTHER STUFF:**

**I'd like to take the time to thank the people that beta this story, namely my trusty beta-sidekick Sentinel103 and also my new pal Shivnmcg666, who gave me some suggestions to help me improve this story. Check out her full-length fic, "Fed Up To The Core," it's got some pretty dark stuff too, I'm enjoying it.**

**i'll be taking your tickets now. please enter to your right make sure your seatbelts are securely in place. keep your hands and feet inside the car and keep your head back against the seat at all times. **

**get ready. here we go! **


	2. And Then There Were None

Chapter 16.5: And Then There Were None

The new guy Shego and Dr. Director got me is an asshole. I like him. He's cruel and badass and he doesn't give a shit about people's feelings. Especially people who kill innocent people.

He says he tracked down the people that were working with Fukushima when Yori was murdered... and there is evidence that at least three of them were involved in my parents' car crash.

There are six of them. Two are in prison. One of them is living in Tokyo, the other three are living in a city called Fukuoka that's to the south and west of Japan.

And I'm going to find them and tear them apart. One. By. One. And my new friend the asshole is feeling a bit of withdrawal; it's been much too long since he's done anything shady.

"I've been monitoring their phone calls and internet usage. They're smart. They've been communicating through... _strategically placed _messages in places they all go. The last one has them all meeting up in two weeks in an abandoned factory."

I smirk. "Then let's... introduce ourselves, shall we?"

He grins, cracking his knuckles.

* * *

The flight to Japan isn't long enough to dwell on the fact that I'm about to murder four people in cold blood. Which is fine because in reality I would only spend that extra time trying to find better ways to make them beg for the bullets I'm going to make them all eat.

Fuckers.

"You got your girlfriend with you?"

I grin. He calls Betty my girlfriend. She's a Beretta 96 semi-automatic pistol. And she's the most action I get these days...

"You really are in love with that thing."

I stare out the window. I'm in love with a girl, not a gun. She's probably sleeping right now. If not she's probably putting my sister to sleep. And I'm about to break into an abandoned factory with my current girlfriend, Betty the Beretta.

It's fairly easy to get into the place, and we're silent as we search through the place until we find them, cowering in what looks like an old break room. It has no windows, and its pitch black. In a flash, I drop the first one and hold Betty to the other one's head. The douche bag growls in the now whimpering third man's ear to shut the fuck up and put his hands where he can see them.

I enjoy myself tying them up; taking satisfaction in hearing them groan or whimper in protest when I pull the ropes too tight. The unconscious guy might wake up with blue hands.

Like I give a shit.

We load them into the van we came in and they start muttering amongst themselves, wondering what this is about.

I smirk to myself. They'll know soon enough. For now, lights out for them. Betty helps me take care of that. The look on the second one's face when I'm about to hit him is priceless.

I'm hoping I get to see it more often.

We arrive in Tokyo, and the fourth guy puts up a bit of a fight. He busted my lip, actually, and I'm pissed about it. So I cock my gun and shove it in his mouth until he gags. "If you throw up on it I'll pull the fucking trigger, asshole," I growl at him. His eyes widen and I know he understood what I said.

His eyes are watering as he retches, and Douche (as I'm going to refer to him until his work with me is done... he doesn't mind. He would mind _Asshole _though, so I have to stick with Douche bag) ties his hands at a really awkward angle. When he finishes, I shove him into a chair and I hear his hand crunch as it breaks. He bites his lip, but he's afraid to make sound, lest I shoot him. Wise of him, really. But pointless, seeing as how he will be gagged very shortly. And dead shortly thereafter.

We drag the other three assholes into the apartment, and then the fun begins. Douche and I make our guests _comfortable_ in some more chairs. I blindfold the one who owns the apartment. I can feel the tension rolling off him because he doesn't know what I'm going to do to him. The others will... they will watch. And they'll suffer while they are watching.

I reach into my bag, which I've set on the table behind my first victim. I have three pictures and six scalpels. The ones who can see struggle desperately against their bindings. I let the tip of my finger graze one of the scalpels. "You know," I begin casually, wiping the blood off my finger with my thumb, "you guys really picked the wrong side in this war. Monty... he thinks he can be big and bad, fuck up people's lives for his own stupid obsession... but people are only on top until someone bigger and badder comes and knocks them off. Today you will learn a few lessons. The main one is that just because you work with an evil monkey-obsessed megalomaniac does not mean that you're badass by any means. I _am_ your worst nightmare. What you've done guarantees no mercy and no holding back. So let's begin class, shall we?"

"First," I put the picture in the man's lap. "Never." The scalpel sinks into his thigh like butter, holding the picture in place. He screams, but the gag in his mouth prevents anyone outside of the room from hearing. "Ever." He screams again as the picture is secured in place with a second scalpel in his other leg. "Mess with Ron Stoppable's family."

Tears fall from the man's eyes, and he half-whimpers, half-mumbles incoherently in Japanese.

"Lesson two," I say with a smirk, watching the second man's eyes widen as I place a picture in his lap. He's shaking his head desperately, silently begging for mercy. "Never, _ever_, threaten _my_ KP." He squeezes his eyes shut as I forcefully stab the picture into place in his lap. "Open your eyes, asshole," I say harshly, bending down so that my face is an inch away from his.

He squeezes his eyes more.

I cock my gun. "Open. Your. Eyes." They immediately widen in terror, and I look into them before I speak. "That girl is _mine._ And that you and your big bad friends even had the idea of taking these pictures of her means that you are all going to die tonight. Slowly. And Painfully."

I straighten, turning to the last one. He's watching the blood pool on the ground unemotionally. I place the picture in his lap, and he glares at me. I'll break him yet. In fact, I think I'll save him for last. I feel the scalpel scrape bone and he grits his teeth. "Lesson three," I say quietly. "When you torture a man's friend to death, you can expect said friend to come for you. I'm here, bitches, and you're going to learn what it's like to fuck with Ron Stoppable."

I turn to the blindfolded man, who is trembling in his chair. "By the time this night is over, you will be begging for me to end your life," I smirk. "Of course, I will be happy to oblige you. But first things first."

I slowly walk around him, enjoying how helpless and terrified he looks with the gag, and the blindfold, and the trembling. I motion Douche with my hand, and he removes a scalpel from one of the other guys' legs, cuts the rope binding my current guy's feet, and sticks it back in the first one's leg again. He sounds pathetic when he screams.

Douche grabs the blindfolded one's leg, holding it out straight. He struggles, but Douche is six feet five inches tall and weighs three times as much as I do. The fucker doesn't stand a chance. I take great pleasure in the keening screech that comes from his mouth as I bring my boot-clad foot down hard on his knee, shredding it and sending his bone tearing through his skin. It pokes out like some fucked up turkey leg or something.

Douche grabs the second leg. "No! No, no, no, no, no!" I hear through the gag. I roll my eyes. Like telling me 'no' will actually stop me. I bring my boot down on his other knee, effectively destroying it. When we let go of him, he sobs.

I circle his chair again. Decisions, decisions. What should I do next? I feel like a male version of Adrena Lynn. I reach into my bag again, retrieving a pair of pliers. This is the oldest method of torture in the book, but I feel like it's one of those 'oldie but goody' types. Silently, I take a scalpel from where the second guy is so generously holding it for me, cutting the rope from his hands. I tape them to the arms of his chair instead. Douche tells me he's going to retrieve something from the car, and I nod.

"Do you know, when you die they say your nails and hair grow. Well, they don't actually _grow _grow. You see, once you're dead, the tissues around your hair and nails recede, giving the illusion that they are longer than when you were alive. I think... I think I want to test that theory, okay? So what I'm going to do is borrow this..." using the pliers, I grab hold of his thumb nail and pull as hard as I can. He grits his teeth as his nail rips loose from its bed. "And I'll compare it to what it looks like after you're dead. Okay? I'd tell you I'll let you know how it turns out... but unfortunately, you'll be joining Monkey Fist's welcoming committee in hell. Very, very soon."

I grab his index finger, and it tenses. My pliers... they seem to have a mind of their own. They pull out his pinky nail instead. His breath leaves his lungs in a whimper. I methodically remove the rest of the nails in his right hand, weighing them in my gloved palm. After a moment, I shove them in his mouth and replace the gag. I wish he weren't blind folded because I'm pretty sure his eyes just bugged out of his head.

Dumb asshole.

His little friends stare at his bleeding hand in horror. I don't pull the nails in his left hand... I'm actually curious about the dead people nail thing. Besides, his left hand is already broken. With his hands fucked up and his knees shredded, he isn't going anywhere. I borrow a scalpel again and cut him free.

He tries to bolt for the door and collapses after his first step. I watch him with sardonic eyes. "Where are you going?" I ask, sarcastically curious. I kick him in the ribs and he rolls onto his back. I step on his hands and he screams as the bones in his right hand break too.

"This is for being a perverted freak of nature," Douche says cheerfully as he swings his huge steel-toe boot at the man's nads. I cringe when I hear his foot make contact with the guy's balls. Ouch. That will... sterilize the guy. Not that he'll be around long enough to try and make babies anyway. I'm glad his gene pool won't be around after this, having the genes of a stalking perverted murderer results in an immediate loss of cool points.

"Do you have the bat?" I ask Douche, ignoring the sympathetic ache that every guy gets when he sees another man's nuts take a hit.

Douche nods and I step away from his hands. He forces the man to his destroyed hands and knees and I cock my gun again. I get why they do it in the movies all the time as they deliver their one-liners or whatever. That sound is really intimidating. Hey, the freaky serial killer from that movie _Phone Booth_ says the same thing. Maybe I should go on a sniping rampage after this. Anyway, back to the task at hand.

"If you fall I will shoot you," I say, concealing the strange surge of excitement that flows through me.

He's trembling again, but I'm pretty sure that's because he's holding himself up... he doesn't want to be shot. Too bad for him, really.

Douche and I take turns with the bat, raining blow after blow onto his back, shoulders, and legs. Just to make him suffer, I kick in his elbow. He screams through his gag again as he collapses, his arm now bent in an awkward angle. I put the gun to his temple. "Get the fuck up," I hiss at him.

He tries really hard, he does. I screw the silencer on my gun. I'm nothing if not a man of my word. I take aim as he struggles to remain on his hands and knees. I guess I'm done playing with victim number one. Too bad... I hope the next one lasts longer.

Changing my mind, I drag him to the first guy's chair. I remove the picture from his lap, placing the man's head in his lap instead. Putting the gun to the back of his head, I watch them both for a moment. Sweat is pouring from all of their faces, and I turn away from them. "Now look what you've done," I say with a dramatic sigh. "You've gone and gotten someone killed. It's different when you're on that side of the gun, isn't it, motherfuckers?"

Taking aim, I fire. The guy screams as his friend's brain chunks fly all over him. It's sort of gross, and morbidly cool. A really awful part of my mind thinks that Mrs. Dr. P. would be sad to see this guy's brain everywhere; she might have liked to study it.

He's still screaming, and I realize it's because I maybe accidentally-on-purpose shot him in the leg too.

"Get him out of here," I say to Douche. He grins and picks up the now semi-headless asshole and carries him out to the van.

And then there were three.

I turn back to the men in the chairs. Who should I play with next?

A moan of terror comes from the second guy, and I level him with an evil smirk. He shouldn't have gotten my attention.

I blindfold him and drag his chair across the room, putting him in his dead buddy's place. The picture in his lap is of Kim and me.

KP is... everything to me. She was always there for me. She was there when I had the brilliant idea of trying out for every sport in Middleton High so that I could be a jock and get chicks (I know she knew it was stupid and I was going to be hurt, maimed, and royally fucked over nineteen different ways, but I was hard to reason with... she ended up helping me when I got hurt, taking me to the ER after every concussion, bandaging up all stings I got when some guy threw a hornets' nest instead of the ball in the Lacrosse tryout). She was there when I went to tour a university that ended up being a lair. Sexy new mission threads included. She holding me while I retched as the despicable images of Yori's death invaded my mind... they were nothing compared to the real pictures though. And this... picture... how dare they?! If they wanted to come after me, they should have, but my intimacy with her is my business, and they should not have dragged her into this, much less threatened her. The white hot fury inside me escalates again, and I suddenly feel like giving him a taste of their own perversion. I unscrew the silencer.

"You bastards think you can get away with threatening _my _girl? Fucking think again." I shove the gun in his mouth, smiling as he gags and retches. "Suck it, you rapist perverted asshole."

He gags on the barrel of the gun and I cock it again. It's still hot from the previous asshole's bullet. "Suck it," I hiss at him. "Don't forget your other option could be prison, in which some fat guy could be shoving his dick up your ass. I'm not a pervert like you, so your asshole will remain intact for now. But that doesn't mean I won't put a hole in the back of your mouth for threatening sexual violence against her. You have a lesson to learn first, and I'm going to make sure you learn it. _Suck. On. The. Gun._"

He looks utterly terrified and slightly humiliated as he does what he's told. When he gags, I press down on one of the scalpels, making him wince in pain. His wince, in turn, makes him gag on the gun again.

"For someone who's been on Monkey Fist's cock as much as you assholes have, you're pretty bad at this," I observe cheerfully.

He glares balefully at me, and I shove the gun farther down his throat. He gags, retching violently.

Apparently, Betty doesn't choke... but people can choke on Betty. I guess she's got a really big—

"What's next?" Douche asks seeming to enjoy the chaos we're bringing into the small apartment.

"Good question," I say with a shrug and an evil grin, replacing the poor bastard's gag. I screw the silencer back on... I have a few rounds to waste... hmm. Taking aim at one of the guys that can see. I fire.

His eyes are as wide as saucers as he screams desperately. The area between his legs pools with blood. It begins to run down the legs of the chair. I cock the gun again, and give an evil grin at the other guy, who is struggling with his bindings, begging me not to shoot him though his gag. I shoot him anyway.

The guy that's blindfolded, hearing the screams of the other two, trembles. I take aim and fire again.

He screams.

Cutting him lose from his chair, I force him to his hands and knees. "If you fall I will shoot you," I tell him.

Let the games begin...

* * *

The stubborn fucker is seeping blood into his gag he's biting his lip so hard. Douche found an extension chord in the man's apartment, and he and I have been taking turns flogging him with the bat and the chord for the past half hour. His skin is all bloody and torn, and there's blood everywhere.

The man trembles on his hands and knees, weak from pain and blood loss. I kick in his elbow, enjoying the crunch as it gives and breaks. He struggles to stay upright, and I watch him with sardonic eyes. I had to struggle to stay upright too, when my heart was breaking. I don't have one of those anymore, and that is this fucker's fault. He and all his friends will pay. And Monkey Fist... I'm going to give him a dose of his own medicine.

Focusing back on the bastard in front of me, I realize that I like how pathetic he looks. There's blood running down his face, his back, his arms, his legs. I take off the blindfold and look into his eyes. They are bleeding too, and I know he probably can't see very well right now. "If you scream, yell for help, or try to run, I will hack you to pieces alive, do you understand me?"

He gulps and nods, and I pull the gag away from his mouth. He's literally chewed right through his lip... and we were only hitting him for half hour. In another ten minutes he could have used the piece of flesh for gum.

I relieve him from having to stay on his hands. Nice of me, isn't it?

"Kneel," I say flatly, guiding him to his knees by his hair.

He kneels, partly relieved until I press Betty to his forehead. "Beg," I command him.

He looks terrified and confused.

"_Beg for your life, asshole!"_

He glares furiously at me.

"Beg for your life," I growl at him, bringing the butt of the gun down on his face hard. He is stubbornly silent, and I hit him with the gun again and again until he speaks.

"P-p-please," he finally whispers, his words sounding muffled because of his chewed off lip. "D-don't kill me..."

"Why shouldn't I?" I ask him testily.

"I-I..."

"Why?" I growl. "Answer me!"

"P-please, I d-d-don't-t des-serve this—"

"Wrong answer," I smirk at him. I cock the gun and he squeezes his eyes shut.

"I-I'm s-sor-r-rry," he whimpers. "P-p-please—"

Betty explodes powerfully and silently in my hands, and he slumps over, dead.

And then there were two.

Which one of these bitches should I force to beg next?

The third one, who was originally trying to act all manly and shit, is now trembling. I think he can stand to suffer a little longer though... I'll deal with the first guy now.

I reach for a blindfold again, and both men freeze. I pretend to deliberate, watching the sardonic one try to stifle his terror. I turn my gaze and maybe a smirk on the other one, and he knows his number is up.

"Please," he begs through the gag as I drag his chair across the room.

"So," I say conversationally as I blindfold him, "You've seen the three pictures. Which one is your favorite?"

His expression says 'do you seriously want me to answer that?' and I chuckle. "You don't have to answer that. I'll answer for you. The one in your lap is my favorite. My parents and my sister, together. They look happy. Too bad my parents are dead thanks to you fools.

"I'm well aware that you witnessed your brother's murder tonight. It took me a minute to figure it out, but you seemed more upset about him dying than the other one. I would say I'm sorry for your loss... but you and your brother and the rest of you assholes are the reason for _my_ loss. So I really don't give a shit about your family. You ruined mine, after all.

"You should never have touched them. Yes, I know, you were taking orders from Monkey Fist and his bitch Fukushima, but let me tell you, like I've reiterated several times tonight, taking orders from those two was a bad idea. Do you agree?"

He nods.

"Oh, I'm glad you've learned the lesson," I say with a bright smile. "We can move right along then. Douche, let's start with his arms and legs, shall we?"

He is silent as I start the beating. When I tell him I'll shoot him if he gets off his hands and knees, he hangs his head and lets his elbows give way.

"Oh, so you _want_ to die?" I ask him with a smirk. "_Denied!_ You will _beg_ for me to kill you tonight. And maybe I'll say yes. Or maybe I'll make you a vegetable and leave you trapped in your fucked up body for the rest of your life to contemplate being on the other end of a murder."

Dragging him back into his chair, I take particular pleasure in seeing him struggle. We flog him with the electrical cord until his shirt is in bloody tatters. Tears are streaming from his eyes.

"You have no right to cry," I hiss at him. "This is _your_ fault. _You_ are a murdering, kidnapping, perverted piece of shit. Everyone knows what you did, and no one will miss you when you're dead. Take this like the man you pretended to be when you and your buddies destroyed my life. The more you cry like a little bitch, the worse this is going to be for you. If you want this to be over, shut the fuck up, now."

His tears stop five minutes later, and I force him to his knees in front of me. "Beg," I tell him.

His hands, unrestrained but bloody and desiccated, reach for his blindfold. He pulls it off, looking me in the eye. "Kill me," he says quietly. "I cannot live with what I have done, and I will not live without my brother."

I shrug and aim between his eyes. He just stares at me, waiting for me to pull the trigger. I do, but I switch my aim to his chest instead. He falls back, blood pooling at his lips as he wheezes. "Beg more," I command him.

"P-please..." he whispers, blood running into his ears and hair.

"It will take you hours to suffocate to death like this," I say blankly. "You better make it convincing."

He coughs, and blood sprays from his mouth all over the place. He can't speak anymore, and his eyes are full of agony. "Please," he tries to say, sound barely leaving his lips.

I drag the next chair over, leaving him there wheezing. I speak again. "I think you should have a bit of a contest," I say excitedly. "Douche, get me a cup."

"Yessir," he says sarcastically.

"You know what this picture is, right?" I remove the gag from his mouth. "Speak. Do not yell for help."

"The girl... is being forced to drink from her own blood."

"Who did this?"

His voice trembles. "I did."

"Whose idea was it?"

"Fukushima."

"Lucky bastard," I mutter under my breath. If I had my hands on him, I would choke him to within an inch of his life over and over for days.

I replace his gag. "Yori was a hero," I say quietly. "She didn't deserve this."

His fists clench.

"Oh, you don't agree? Fucker," I hiss at him, taking a scalpel from his leg and plunging it into the side of his back. Taking the other one, I shove it into his other side. He howls in pain, and I smirk. "I just stabbed you through both kidneys. When those scalpels come out, you will bleed to death, slowly and painfully. So here's your competition. The first one of you to fully convince me to put you out of _my_ misery will get what they want. The other I'll let die on their own."

The guy on the floor merely wheezes out another pathetic plea as Douche comes back with the cup.

I twist one of the scalpels a bit before pulling it out, making the guy in the chair gasp in pain. I'm rewarded with a cascade of deep red that flows from his side, and I wait patiently for the cup to fill.

"Drink it," I order him, my voice flat.

He stares at his own blood in horror.

"_DRINK IT!"_

He gags at the idea, and I put the cup to his lips, pulling his head back by his hair and pouring it into his mouth.

He retches. "Don't you _dare_ throw up," I growl at him.

He finally takes gulp after slow, disgusting gulp until the cup is empty.

"If you throw up, I'll cut your fingers off and feed them to you, asshole."

He gags again, and his eyes beg for mercy. Unable to hold back anymore, he vomits stream after stream of red. When he's done, I have the scalpel back in my hand. His eyes widen in terror. "Please," he begs. "Please, I-I learned my lesson! Please, don't do this to me—"

I replace his gag and reach for his hand.

"Please," he all but yells. "Please, I'm sorry. Please, just let me die," he begs through the gag.

"Please, I'm sorry! Please, just kill me—" His pleas cut off in pained yelp as my knife digs into his index finger. I have to saw at his bone a bit, but then his finger comes off cleanly. He's crying and desperately begging me to stop again. I remove his gag and stick his dead finger in his mouth, cutting him off in mid scream.

His eyes, wide and horrified, watch my knife descend on his middle finger. Something that sounds like "Beef, dough, kig meat," but really probably meant "Please no, kill me" comes from his mouth, and it sounds pitiful.

I turn to the guy on the ground. "See? That was convincing." I screw the silencer onto my gun, aim and fire, watching the man in the chair go limp.

Then, there was one.

Turning to him, I stand over him and watch him as his eyes, glazed and full of agony and fear, turn to me. I force his mouth open and push the silencer into his mouth. "I'm glad you learned your lesson," I say quietly. "I know now that you won't do it... ever again."

The silence as I pull the trigger is a bit anticlimactic and very disappointing, but I watch as his gaze goes blank instantly with a deep satisfaction.

And then, there were none.

* * *

**Ladies and gentlemen, eight and change pages of brutal, cold-blooded homicide, perpetrated by the man, Ron Stoppable himself. This was incredibly difficult to write, seeing as how I'm not really a murderer and coming up with ways to off people cruelly and mercilessly is not something I did on my free time until now. Let me know what you guys think, and if there are any other outtakes from the story you would like to see, let me know in a review or PM, I'm always open to suggestions and critique.**

**Cheers!**

**~temporary insanity.**


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